Chapter 2: Woe

8-21

Dear Diary: We go back to school in two days. School. Hah. That's a nicer way of referring to what most teenagers regard as hell on earth.

My sister and I got our back to school shopping done a month in advance and it's a good thing that we did. In my current state I would probably have spent such a trip rushing to empty the near non-existent contents of my stomach in the nearest restroom.

I don't know if my terminology has made it obvious, but I hate school. I hate it. The people that are constantly in my face, pretending they care about the plans I've made for the weekend or how my day is going. They must take me for a naive tool if they think I actually believe their lies. No one cares about me. I don't need their false pity and sympathy. They can never understand and I don't expect them to!

Of course, there is one person at school that I wouldn't mind attempting to understand me; Troy Alexander Bolton. Since freshman year he has become an object of fantasy and fascination for me, his beauty both internal and external on divine levels. He was the first person other than myself to find discomfort wearing the mask society crafted and to face an array of reactions both discriminatory and supportive for his decision to rebel against it.

His is the name of such succulence and delicacy I utter as my right hand acts out the deeds Troy himself will only partake in within the confines of my own deprived mind. He makes me weak at the knees and puts my heart a-flutter. His voice speaking my name sends shivers down my spine and his touch no matter the intent tingles on my flesh like fire. I know that I'm in love with him. That is an absolute. The only thing keeping me alive is my insatiable need to see Troy. To feel his toned muscle pressing against my rake thin form. My dreams, my delusions of East High's god and golden boy sustain me, but are dreams enough to live on? Hope? Do I even hope for the impossible?

Troy is perfect, a god among vile desperate insects that scramble over one another for him to throw a passing glance their way. And although I crave him incessantly, I am a sin. I could only desecrate him. Dirty him. Ruin him. He's so perfect and beautiful, I would end up destroying him, his sun-kissed skin broken, his divine blood spilling onto the ground because of me.

Just thinking about such mindlessly beautiful destruction is enough to make me want to bury my head in my hands and sob. Sob until I've got nothing left.

Going back to school means abandoning my foolish dreams and facing the reality that the boy I love belongs to another. Her. Gabriella Montez.

Gabriella is a topic that I don't even want to discuss. Speaking her name causes me to think of what she shares with Troy. What I never will and it only increases my feeling of worthlessness. It's as though her existence is meant to cancel mine out. How could Troy ever notice me when he has her? Seeing the two of them together kills me, kills me at an agonizingly slow pace from the inside out. The way she hugs herself to his sturdy from causes my stomach bile to rise up into my throat and I have to force myself to choke it back down.

And as if this isn't enough punishment, school is the place where the people that hate me for who I am congregate in a mass, conspiring what will be my ultimate demise. They throw fists, aim kicks and knees at any area of my body they can access, their words vicious as I fall to the ground, broken and panting, wondering if maybe these sick, twisted and depraved people's cruel words have some shred of accuracy to them. That I'm worthless. That faggots like me don't deserve to live.

Yes. I hate school. I hate lying and pretending everything is alright and I'm the ever stupidly happy twin of the girl that rules the hallways and has teachers and students alike eating out of her hands.

I'm not safe and I'm not happy. How could I ever hope to be? Those who are evil don't deserve happiness… only extermination.

Ryan's hand shook as he set down his pen. With a sigh, he turned away from the book he used to record his thoughts. Don't think about it! He chided himself with a harshness. The more you think about it, the more it's going to hurt. He let out a sigh that seemed to feel his sleeping quarters. There was a dull ache in his leadened heart that resonated in his chest cavity, the waves traversing throughout the rest of his body as well. And it hurt. Dread mingled with fear. Fear, in turn mingled with sadness and anxiety. He couldn't face them, not after the way his camaraderie with his sister had simply dissolved. There would be too many questions… questions that he did not want to answer.

A/N: There is love in our broken theater king's life, but it is unrequited. Is a dream enough to keep him alive? To save him? And what about Sharpay? What has happened between them? Find out in the next installment.